Rainswept Regrets
by Lunarion Silver
Summary: M!Hawke/Anders - Slash - "Sappy, romantic fluff between Hawke and Anders as they spend a night on the run after fleeing Kirkwall."


**Fandom**: Dragon Age II

**Pairing:** Hawke/Anders (M/M)

**Warnings**: SPOILERS, Sappy Romance

**Disclaimer**: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. I'm only an obsessive fan.

**A/N**: I don't have a Beta, so I apologise for any typos or nonsensical ramblings.

So believe it or not, this was originally supposed to be the start of a non-romantic, depressing, angst-filled piece of fanfiction. Apparently however, I'm so much of a hopeless romantic that it was impossible for me to write anything but this romantic garbage. Bleh. It's alright. I've reworked my original idea into something better. Just need to get around to writing it!

I- ~ ~ ~ -I

It had been raining for what felt like an eternity. Ever since they had been running, it had rained, and Hawke could barely remember a time in his life where he hadn't been running. In retrospect, perhaps it was closer to the truth than he cared to admit. But even now, his flight from town to town, from Lothering, from Ferelden; they all seemed dimmed compared to this. It was as though they happened in another life, to another man. Surely those memories could not be his – they were as a dream, a construction of the Fade. It was just… so _hard_ to remember anything other than this life. Hard to remember anything other than the need to run and stay free with the man at his side. They were fugitives now, hunted men, apostates, _monsters;_ those responsible for the destruction of Kirkwall and a war whose body count reached numbers so high not even he could count them.

And this had been his choice. He had chosen to spare his lover's life, to overlook his crimes and the creature that he was. The atrocities that were committed in the name of _freedom_ and _equality_. In the name of love. And he had to laugh at himself for that. Even on the darkest of nights, the coldest of days. When they were hungry, exhausted, and sore. When it seemed as though righteous death had finally caught up with them, it was love that pushed them forward. And on those darkest of nights and coldest of days, they still found comfort in each other's arms. In soft touches and hushed words; feelings that could only ever be explained and truly understood by action and inherent sense of the soul. They kept each other strong, sane, and willing to go on. Continue fighting.

This had been destiny, branded upon his soul since the moment of conception. There was no choice here, there was never _any_ choice.

"You're brooding." And that had been his damnation from the start. That coy smile, paired with eyes that saw far too much but would never reveal the secrets that they've seen.

They sat, huddled together just inside the open mouth of a cave, they overhang keeping them safe from both wind and rain. They sky was dark, heavy with moisture as dark clouds rolled and rumbled above them. The rain would soon give way to a violent storm, fierce and uncaring. How true that was in other matters, as well.

Hawke pulled his gaze away from the downpour outside, examining Anders in the dimming light. His stubble was thicker, as was his own. They were both in desperate need of a shave and a wash, among other things; a bed and a decent night's rest, for starters. They hadn't dared enter a town yet, despite how small or remote. There was always a chance word had reached it, their descriptions posted on Chantry walls. There was a little bit of truth to that, yes, but it was lined with a heavy dose of Anders' paranoia.

"A bit, yes." Hawke admitted. His voice was calm, relaxed as grey eyes met amber.

Anders shifted closer, his head tilting ever so slightly as his smile, now a smirk, deepened a little more.

"Regretting your decision to run off with your possessed lover, yet?" It was asked, mostly in jest, but try as he might Anders was unable to keep that ever constant undertone of fear hidden. When it took Hawke more than a moment to reply, he cleared his throat, looking away.

_When it comes to regrets, think of me._

A rough hand on Anders' cheek brought his gaze back to meet Hawke's. Thumb moving slowly; comforting motion, tracing the contours and lines of his cheek. Hawke closed the distance between them, head tilted as lips met lips. It was soft, slow. Familiar in its ministrations. A kiss they had shared many times before, and would share many times more. His hand came to rest against Hawke's neck, slipping down along his collarbone and beneath the weathered shirt. He stopped there, warm skin beneath his palm as he allowed Hawke to lead, slow and deliberate.

Hawke pulled back and wet his lips, mouth suddenly dry, eyelids heavy. Anders' expression matched his own; wanton, craving. Leaning forward, Hawke's cheek rubbed against his own, stubble scratching against stubble as warm breath hit his ear. The whisper was soft, honest. Emotion laid bare.

"I have many regrets, Anders." A pause then, and Hawke's eyes closed, head leaning against his love, handing falling from his face to rest against his chest.

"None of them involve you."

The heavens cracked open, lighting forking across the sky in tangled arcs. Thunder boomed, a heavy contrast to the whispered words. Hawke's head dropped, lips planting a firm, if chaste kiss just below the jawline. A promise of things unsaid, but of which they both knew, and for which no words were needed.

They spent the night there, huddled together as they rode out the storm. Half-sleeping in each other's arms only to be woken again by a crack of thunder. Ever vigilant for the sound of approaching boots or the rickety creek of a cart passing near.


End file.
